


blind (even when we try to see)

by chattrekisses



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: Because his gaydar is golden, Dylan knows everything, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Peter's in love, Pining, Sam is dense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 21:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20748782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chattrekisses/pseuds/chattrekisses
Summary: “It’s ‘cause you love him, dipshit,” Dylan says.Or Peter is jealous, Sam is dense, and somehow Dylan is the smartest person in the room.





	blind (even when we try to see)

Gabi Granger and Brandon Galloway break up. It’s messy.

Gabi texts Sam Ecklund about it when he’s over at Peter Maldonado’s house. Sam’s scrolling through memes and Peter’s responding to an email from Netflix about them picking up American Vandal. He hasn’t told Sam about it yet. It’s early days, he doesn’t want to get Sam’s hopes up.

“Holy shit,” Peter says. He’s hanging off Peter’s bed, the blood rushing to color his cheeks. “Holy _shit_.”

Peter swivels in his desk chair, indulging Sam. “What’s up?”

“They broke up,” Sam says, grinning wildly, as if it explains everything.

“Am I supposed to know who you’re talking about?” Peter asks, eyebrows furrowed behind his thick glasses.

“Gabi and Brandon. They broke up. Gabi just texted me,” Sam explains. He’s sat up now, drawing one of Peter’s pillows into his lap. He’s still smiling gleefully. “Peter, the world really is good.”

Something twists in the pit of Peter’s stomach. He turns back to his computer. “Good for Gabi. Brandon’s kind of the worst.”

“He’s objectively the pits,” Sam confirms. He throws himself across Peter’s bed, shouting, “The world is good!”

The thing in Peter’s stomach twists tighter.

*

“Hey, are you busy Friday night? They’re planning that shitty rom-com you like at the Aladdin, uh… what’s it called… the one with that lady? And the rich dude and the hotel?” Peter says. He’s nervous for some reason, like he doesn’t ask Sam to hang out all the time. For some reason, this feels more charged than normal.

By some miracle, Sam knows what Peter is talking about. “Pretty Woman? Aw, fuck, that sounds amazing, Pete, but I already asked Gabi to go mini-golfing with me.”

_ Asked Gabi. _

Peter’s heart sinks. He hadn’t even realized how stupidly hopeful he’d been until that hope is crushed. Sam’s asked Gabi out, now that she’s single. And Gabi said yes. She’d be stupid not to, Sam’s a catch. Disappointment shoots through Peter’s veins. Disappointment, and something like sorrow.

“Oh, congratulations,” Peter says, even though he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it at all.

Sam’s eyebrows pull together in vague confusion. “Um… thanks, I guess?”

Peter excuses himself. In the most dignified manner possible, he cries in the bathroom for three minutes, even though he can’t figure out why.

*

“It’s ‘cause you love him, dipshit,” Dylan says.

It’s Friday night. Peter’s at Dylan’s house, because he doesn’t want to be alone and Dylan isn’t bad company. Sam keeps sending Peter snapchats of him and Gabi, and every time Peter has to look at them smiling together, he feels more and more shattered. He tosses him phone across the room after Sam sends him a photo where he has an arm slung around Gabi’s shoulders, an easy smile on his face. “Why am I like this?” Peter mutters, mainly to himself.

Then Dylan drops the bombshell, “It’s ‘cause you love him, dipshit.”

Peter blinks. “What?”

Dylan’s smoking a joint that Peter rolled for him (every time Dylan rolled one himself it would be tapered on one end, which sent Peter’s OCD on the fritz), languidly stretched across an armchair. “You love him. Your boy.”

“I don’t–– Sam’s not… he’s not my boy,” Peter says, lamely.

“Nah, he is,” Dylan says, taking a drag. “Course he is. And you love him.”

“I– what? No, Dylan, I––”

“You loveeeeeeeee him,” Dylan drawls out which the classic middle-school intonation. “Love-love-love!”

“I… I have no idea how I feel about him,” Peter admits, knowing it’s the only way he’ll be able to shut Dylan up. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He asked Gabi out.”

Dylan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Gabi Granger?”

Peter wraps his arms around himself protectively. “Yeah.”

“Damn. She’s hot,” Dylan notes. “You’re sure he asked her out?”

“They’re mini-golfing now. Sam keeps sending me pictures,” Peter says. He’s watching his phone from across the room. It buzzes with a notification. Probably from Sam. “He hates mini-golf. But he looks happy.”

Dylan frowns. “Fuckin’ weird. Can’t be right–– Sam’s your boy. You’re sure it’s a date?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. Sam hadn’t said that it was a date, but context clues were a reliable informant.

“Shit,” Dylan says. “You should tell him how you feel.”

“I can’t do that,” Peter says. “I don’t even know how I feel. I just… I feel gross about the whole thing.”

“Heavy,” Dylan says. “I’d offer you a smoke, but your lungs are all fucked up, right?”

Peter nods. It’s a surprisingly touching offer for Dylan. He watches his phone from across the room. It buzzes again.

*

They’re filming for the Morning Show. Peter’s making sure all his cue cards are lined up. Madison’s doing vocal exercises next to him.

Sam’s alternating between looking at Peter and looking at his phone. He stares at Peter for a moment, texts someone, and then heads over to Peter.

Peter tries to control his heartbeat. He doesn’t know when his heart stopped registering Sam as “friend” and started seeing him as “_Sam_”.

“You’ve got an eyelash,” Sam whispers. He leans in and sweeps the pad of his finger under Peter’s eye. Peter’s heart thunders. He looks to Sam’s finger–– there’s no eyelash. Sam smiles. “All clean.”

Sam lingers there, in Peter’s space, Peter shivery and uncertain under Sam’s gaze until Randall, carrying a camera rig says, “Sam, we gotta start filming and you’re kind of in the shot.”

Sam apologizes and breezes away, leaving Peter to contemplate what just happened.

He pictures Sam in front of him–– his warm eyes, his dimples, his smile that makes everything brighter–– and muses to himself, _how could I ever want anyone else?_

*

Sam’s at Peter’s house. They’re watching a girl on YouTube explain her shaky theory on why Peter and Sam did the dicks together. It’s stupid and indulgent, but they watch videos like this together sometimes.

Peter loves it, because it always ends with them lying together on Peter’s bed, shoulders pressed together. Sam’s always warm.

An alarm goes off on Sam’s phone. “Fuck, it’s 4:30 already?” Sam exclaims. “Sorry Pete, I gotta bounce. Gabi’s waiting for me.”

And just like that, Peter’s stomach plummets. He likes Gabi, he does, which makes the whole thing worse. “Oh,” is all Peter can manage to say.

Sam clambers off the bed and starts to put his sneakers back on.

Peter sits up and shuts his computer. He feels like there’s a wall between the two of them–– something nameless and strange that only he can feel. Jealousy wells up inside him and he can’t help it, he mutters, “Don’t go.”

Sam freezes. He looks up at Peter, confused. “What?”

Peter swallows. Carefully, louder this time, he says, “Don’t go.”

“What? Peter, I… I mean, I’m supposed to meet Gabi? We were gonna get milkshakes?” Sam says.

“I know, I just…” Peter sucks in a breath. “I just don’t want you to leave.”

Sam’s finished lacing up his shoes, and he stands up. “Why?”

“I know that Gabi and Brandon broke up, and you finally got to ask Gabi out and I’m really happy for you because you’re happy and all that, but at the same time I feel really stupidly jealous?” Peter says, the words tumbling out of him.

“I… what? Peter, we’re just getting _milkshakes_,” Sam says, like it explains everything.

“Still,” Peter says. “I kind of… I guess I want _us_ to get milkshakes.”

Peter’s staring at Sam’s shoes now because he can’t bring himself to look into Sam’s eyes. Sam says, “Peter, do you _like_ me?”

Peter says, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

“Oh,” Sam rubs at the back of his neck, uncertain. “Well. Okay.”

Peter feels queasy. This isn’t going as poorly as it could have, but it still isn’t going great. “Okay,” Peter says.

Sam walks up to the bed, his fingers nervously messing with the hem of his shirt. “You like me?”

Peter looks up at Sam. “Yeah, I think we already established that.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam says. And then he climbs onto the bed, shoes and all, and then into Peter’s lap.

Peter feels like he’s been set on fire. “What a-are… what are you doing?” He asks as Sam places his hands on Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m gonna kiss you, if that’s okay,” Sam says. He’s taking off Peter’s glasses off now, folding them up neatly and then placing them on Peter’s bedside table.

Peter feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay,” he says, still watching at Sam. He’s a little blurrier when Peter doesn’t have his glasses on, but Peter can still see when Sam leans in and kisses him.

It’s a messy kiss, uncoordinated and unpracticed. Both of them don’t really know what they’re doing. Their teeth click together when Peter manages to get Sam’s mouth open. Still, it’s marvelous. It's a revelry, a triumph. It’s better than Peter could have ever imagined. Sam tastes like minty gum. They kiss until Peter’s lungs can’t take it anymore, and then they rest their foreheads together, panting.

“What… what about Gabi?” Peter asks.

“For someone so smart, you’re really fucking stupid.” Sam laughs. “We were just going to get milkshakes, Peter. Just milkshakes.”

“But I thought––”

“I’m not dating Gabi,” Sam says. “We’re just friends.”

“But you were so happy when she and Brandon broke up?”

“‘Course I was,” Sam says, like it’s obvious. “Gabi’s my best friend. Brandon's a dick. She deserved better.”

Peter mulls this over. He’s about to open his mouth to speak, but Sam cuts him off. “How about you kiss me instead of asking another idiotic question,” Sam says.

Peter’s happy to comply.

*

Hours later, Peter calls Dylan.

“Dylan? This is Peter Maldonado.”

“Don’t be so fuckin’ weird, Peter. I know who you are, I have caller ID.”

“Sorry.” _Pause._ “Anyway, I was just calling to tell you that you were right.”

“Damn right I was.” _Pause._ “What are we talking about again?”

“Sam. He really is my boy.” _Pause._

“About goddamn time, Maldonado!”

_Click._


End file.
